Poem: “Theodore Roosevelt”

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Poem: “Theodore Roosevelt”

 

 

I smell the dust of the ranch

and the smoke of the hill

still as I sit here

and listen to congressmen.

 

I feel the bruise of the bullet,

the slam of it,

into the folded speech.

 

I see her sometimes

in the corners of mirrors.

I see her dead

and smell the room.

 

Part of me

is watery and dark

and filled with tinny echoes.

 

 

Patrick T. Reardon

7.8.17

 

Written @ 1980.

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